The Scottish Temptress
by ladyinblue6
Summary: Edward is an English soldier that tortures Scottish people to get military information out of during the 1300's. Bella is a captured Scottish woman with information. What will Edward do to get Bella to speak? An entry for the Age of Edward contest.
1. Chapter 1

**Age of Edward Contest**

**Title: The Scottish Temptress**

**Your pen name: LadyInBlue6**

**Type of Edward: Braveheartward **

**If you would like to see all the stories that are a part of this contest visit: The Age of Edward C2 Community:  
http://www(DOT)fanfiction(DOT)net/community/The_Age_of_Edward_Contest/70125/**

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**Scotland, 1301**

"Sir Cullen," one of the soldiers greeted as he entered the dungeon which I was currently in.

I heard a whimper come from the Scottish solider that I was interrogating.

"Quiet!" I snapped. "Aye, Michael?"

"I've caught another Scot," he continued. "But she is a woman. Do ye still want her to come forth?"

A woman would probably be easier to force to talk, but how much would she have to say? Usually I only dealt with the Scottish soldiers to get military information from.

"Is she of Wallace descent?" I asked. She may have more information if so.

Michael the Sly nodded. "Aye, Sir. She is a cousin to Wallace himself."

I smiled. "Bring her to the chamber now."

Michael the Sly left the dungeon and picked up the soldier.

"You are lucky, Scot," I murmured in a seething manner. "I am not through with ye yet though."

I threw him into his dungeon cell and locked the door, awaiting the lovely lady.

The English and the Scottish have been fighting for many years now. Wallace, or Braveheart as they call him now, refuses to give in, even though our army is clearly superior.

I have been pulling information out of prisoner's lately, trying to figure out Scottish strategy. Tis been three years since Wallace killed an English nobleman, and three years since the beginning of the Scottish bloodbath. If this war continues 'til the year 1400, I shall not care. We shall not quit until we have defeated the Scots.

The Scottish brutes are stubborn though. Scots always have been. When I first began my interrogations, I was easy on them, trying to ease the truth out of them. How naїve I was. They laughed at my kind words and spit at my gentle persuasions. They chatter away in their devil language, making fun of my heritage.

Now I force it out of them. I have succumb to doing whatever it takes. I beat the men and rape the women until they are begging me to stop. The truth spills through their filthy mouths quite easily after a bit of torturous pain.

Michael the Sly shoves a short, wiry woman into my torture chamber. She looks at him with enough fiery temper to put Lucifer himself to shame. She spits on him and begins mumbling words, most likely curses, in Gaelic.

"Sir, this is Isabella Wallace. Her mother is Wallace's aunt," Michael introduced briefly. "We caught her tempting Captain Black in Roxburgh after we invaded. She is a pretty wench, she is. Almost got him to squeal like the pig that he is."

I grinned. A fiery Scotswoman. This was one breed of the devil's spawn that had yet to deal with. It could be very interesting.

"Thank you, Michael," I muttered. "You may leave now. I have work to do."

Michael the Sly bowed slightly and closed the dungeon door behind him.

Isabella Wallace stood in the middle of the room, her hands tied behind her back. Her curly brown hair was chaotic, half of it up in a rat's nest and the other half hanging down her back. Her face was red with obvious anger and hatred, but where the blush did not reach, she was as white as the ghosts that haunted the dungeons in London. Her brown eyes were burning with passionate hatred and her lips were pulled up in dislike. The hatred blush travelled down her swan-like neck and onto her bosom, meeting the top of her dress. I wondered if the blush continued downward. I would know soon enough.

Her dress was black with a plaid shawl wrapped around her waist. But the dress appeared to be a mix of brown and gray. She probably had been raped by a few soldiers on the way to me. I would have gladly taken this Scot if I had been delivering her to my superior. One arm of the dress had been torn at the seams, making it fall off her shoulder, exposing her dewy skin to me. Her feet were bare, but caked in mud.

She was a perfect wreck. Oh, the beautiful torture I could inflict on her. She would become destroyed by already aroused prick.

"Sit down, wench," I commanded, gesturing to the stool to her right.

She uttered a string of Gaelic words under her breath as she sat down, and the idea of her cursing my name only aroused me more. Fire was a desirable quality in women for me. I wanted them to hate me more than they were infatuated with me.

I circled her absurdly tiny figure, occasionally glancing down to see the space between her dirty dress and her body, seeing the tops of her breasts.

"Are ye Wallace's cousin?" I asked quietly, seeing how far I could push her before her patience died.

"Aye," she answered, her voice strong and husky, just like any other Scot's voice.

"Did ye try to infiltrate the English army?" I continued, still circling her.

I saw her dirty face pull into an impish grin. "Aye."

She was obviously proud of her handiwork even though she had been captured.

"Did ye seduce Captain Jacob Black?"

She laughed shortly. "_Mi rinn barrachd na a._"

I grabbed her hair and forced her to look at me.

"Did you seduce Captain Jacob Black?" I repeated.

She grinned, not scared of my tone of voice at all. She spit in my face, making me let go of her hair.

Then she cried, "Aye! Aye!" and laughed loudly, her laugh high-pitched and mocking and full of delight.

I wiped my face angrily, not happy that she was still in high spirits.

"Do ye see Wallace often?" I asked, not bothering to punish her for that just yet.

"Aye," she replied, still grinning. "_Buan mair Braveheart!_"

I gritted my teeth, recognizing the famous Scottish phrase: "Long live Braveheart!"

"Quiet, wench," I snapped. "You are in England now, and in England ye are under my power."

"_Faigh muin dibh,_" she growled in a seething tone, leaning forward, baring her teeth, ready to leap at me like an animal.

I also recognized that Gaelic phrase. "Fuck you." I back-handed her across the right cheek, making a delightful slapping sound echo off the stone walls.

She didn't fall though. She stayed on her tiny stool. She looked at me with more anger than before.

"It shall only get worse from here," I murmured quietly, my anger slowly building up in my voice. "Your final punishment will be much rougher than I intended to do before. Every time ye disobey my rules, I shall add more time and pain into yer final punishment. Understand, wench?"

She looked down at the dirty floor, a scowl on her angry face. "Aye."

"Good," I spat, although I wanted her to push her luck so that I had good reason to hurt her. "Now, tell me what information you have."

"_A chaoidh,_" she uttered fiercely, glaring at me with raw hatred. I could feel the flames from her brown eyes eat at my tainted soul.

"Your choice," I replied quietly, trying to avoid looking into her soul-piercing eyes. "But ye _will_ tell me eventually, ye Scottish whore."

She stood up abruptly. "_'Nad dream gabhar fulang ceannsaich 'm maith bas-bhuadladh a' mein. Loisg an ifrinn, dibh Sasannach mac a' galla._"

I blinked, stunned for a second. Not one prisoner had ever yelled back at me at this point. Usually I had broken their spirit by now, but not hers apparently.

I did not know what she had cried out in fury, but the way she said it assured me it was all directed my way and that it wasn't her begging for mercy. She was speaking ill of me, I am sure.

I gathered my thoughts again, trying to shake myself of the stunned feeling.

"I know you understand English," I mused aloud. "I also know that Captain Black does not know your devil's tongue language. Speak English, wench."

"Fine," she replied sarcastically, still standing. She was breathing so heavily that her chest was heaving at a wonderful rate. "Shall I repeat my words, _Sir_?"

Her husky, accented voice sent shivers of lust throughout my body, my prick responding enthusiastically to her tone.

"Yes," I sneered, wrapping my fingers around her bare shoulder and pushing her down, forcing her to sit.

She ripped her skin away from my palm, still as feisty as she had been when she was speaking her native tongue.

"I said, 'Your family will suffer under the skilled hands of mine. Burn in hell, you English son of a bitch,'" she repeated fiercely, her anger growing by the second.

I smirked, amused at her attempted to offend me. I have heard it all before from her kin. Nothing could make me flinch from a Scottish mouth.

But she still had to be punished.

"Get on your knees, wench," I commanded, helping her by shoving her forward.

She fell to the floor. She quickly got to her knees, her head still held high. I walked in front of her and grabbed her hair, forcing her neck to crane up to look at me.

"I could have ye killed," I reminded her, daring to look into her all-seeing eyes.

"I could have _ye_ killed," she replied fiercely.

I smirked again. "Not if yer in here."

"I wouldn't be so sure, pig," she murmured, mischief and amusement painting over her anger.

Her words puzzled me. She sounded so confident in her people even though she was all alone now.

I pulled my dagger out of its sheath and held it tightly. I brought it to her slender neck, lightly grazing it with the sharpened tip. I trailed it across her bare shoulder, before poking into the skin near her collarbone, making her cry out in surprise, blood pooling in the pocket of her collarbone.

"_Fáilte Máiri, lán a' grás,_" she murmured, her eyes closed. I wanted her attention, so I dragged the knife down the length of her neck, making her hiss as more blood poured out of her. "_'M Triath 's le thusa, naomha an tu measg boireannach 'm naomha 's 'm meas a' do broinn Iosa. Naomh Máiri, máthair a' Dia, guidh bhuainn peacach tráth-sa 'm 'g 'm unair a'bás. Amen._"

She had been praying? Not even God could save her here. She was too far beneath the earth to even be heard.

"Why were ye praying?" I asked as I watch the blood spill over her bones and ivory flesh down into her bosom.

"I will die before I tell ye anything," she responded strongly, her teeth bared.

I smiled. She thought I was going to kill her before I had any fun? She was not lucky enough for such a thing to occur.

"Ye think I shall be so easy on ye?" I asked, amused. "Death is the quick, painless way out. Life is much harder. Death is not in your future, wench."

She stared me down stubbornly. "Not a word shall cross my lips as ye torture me, fiend. Not a reaction shall enter my body."

"We shall see about that," I murmured, quickly brushing her hair out of her eyes.

Let the torturous pleasure begin.

I quickly undid my pants, pulling them down so that my hardened prick was exposed to her.

I saw her face go into shock briefly before the fiery temper came back to her. She raised an eyebrow and glanced up at me.

"Put yer mouth on my prick, wench," I commanded.

She looked away, disgusted. "_A chaoidh._"

I grabbed her hair, forcing her to look at me. "What did you say, Scot?"

"Never," she repeated in English.

I gripped my dagger and brought it to her lips.

"Which would you prefer," I whispered, tracing her full lips with the tip of the dagger, "yer lips being cut-off or yer mouth encasing my arousal?"

She glared at me, her hatred growing even stronger. Then she looked at my prick, which was standing at attention for her like a soldier under command.

She slowly leaned forward and timidly pushed her mouth over the tip of my prick. An involuntary groan escaped my lips as I felt her sassy mouth envelope me completely, the tip of me hitting the back of her throat.

She slowly slid back, almost leaving my prick naked again, before slowly pushing forward again. She continued her slow, naїve pace, making my hips thrust towards her face in pure desire. She nipped my member gently; making me hiss, but enjoy it completely as the ungodly amounts of pleasure and pain hit me.

She slid forward with her lips and dragged back with her teeth. That alone pushed me over the edge. Isabella wrapped her mouth around me again, and my prick spilt its juices into her fantastic mouth.

"Isabella!" I cried as my body spasmed under her control. Then I remembered who we are. "Drink every last bit of it, wench. If one drop leaves your mouth, ye shall have to do it all over again."

She sucked my prick until it was empty, swallowing every pint of liquid that I had unloaded.

She fell back onto her legs, her face flushed and sweaty, and her body heaving with every pant of a breath that she took. She looked glorious and surprisingly beautiful for a Scottish wench.

She looked distraught, not disgusted or pained like the other women. She was so intriguing that I forgot about what I was supposed to be torturing out of her. I genuinely wanted to know what was running through her peppery mind right now.

I knelt down in front of her. She glanced at me warily. I gripped her chin and forced her to look at me.

"Don't use your teeth ever again," I warned, although her teeth made the experience much more pleasurable.

She ripped her chin away, her defiance growing again.

I tugged at the shoulder-less part of her dress, making it fall to her waist, exposing the left side of her body to me. The peak on her breast was already hardened for me.

She gasped and raised her right hand, slapping me across the face ad gathering her dress to hide her body from me.

I growled, my arousal growing stronger again. My mind begged her to slap me again, but I knew that I had to keep my façade up.

I gripped both of her wrists, making her dress fall once again.

I leaned towards her naked bosom, immediately taking her peak in my mouth. She hissed, her dirty nails engraving my hands. It didn't stop me. I bit down on her swollen mound of skin as payback for her fault. She yelped, her body tensing and trying to cringe away from me. I let go and swirled my tongue around her tender flesh, making her relax again.

Although she was Scottish and quite obviously hated me, she couldn't deny her body this degree of pleasure. A low moan escaped her mouth and her fingernails continued scratching at me, but at a much slower, more pleasurable rate.

I forgot that she wasn't supposed to enjoy this. I was getting too absorbed in her appealing temper.

I pulled my face around from her chest, my mind trying to get out of the hazy maze this Scottish devil woman has put it in. Our eyes met, both pairs burning with desire, passion, and hatred. My body was surging with unadulterated lust and arousal. I needed her for more than just answers. I needed to have my body relieved of this tenseness.

In a moment of losing myself, I attacked her lips with my own, jabbing my tongue into her mouth like a sword into its sheath. Her tongue met mine with equal ferocity, giving me a fight for dominance. Her hands met my hair, tugging at the strands hard enough to rip it out. My hands cleverly removed the top half of her dress so that she was completely exposed to me. My hands roughly grabbed her bosom, squeezing and kneading her breasts, teasing her hardened peaks.

My mind was foggy with lust. I couldn't bring myself to disconnect our mouths to do my job. She was my singer. Her temper and body called me to her. Maybe in a different life we had been husband and wife. Maybe our souls have been intertwined since the beginning of time.

I pulled away, my mind finally comprehending my thoughts. I was being pulled in by a seductive demon obviously. I had heard stories about the Scottish witches that roam the Highlands. Isabella could very well be one of these demonic witches.

"Lay down," I commanded weakly, trying to find the strength in my soul to continue with my job.

She laid down on the dirt floor, her flame-filled brown eyes enveloping my soul in a lustful fit. I couldn't resist her. I had to have this Scottish temptress.

Her ribs were gaunt enough to be used as instruments. She was as skinny and lithe as a fox, and nearly as cunning as one, too. Her legs tangled themselves within her dirty and torn dress, seeking friction that only I could provide.

I fell above her, my hands catching my fall on either side of her face. My prick grazed her cloth-covered thighs, making her mewl with desire.

My body hovered above hers and my mind tried to find a good reason why I wanted to take this woman's body.

The only reason that came to mind was my sinful desire, and that was a good enough reason for me.

Her soul-piercing eyes gazed into mine. I felt as if she could see right through me, directly into my soul. It was disorienting and exhilarating at the same time.

She swallowed deeply before running her hands down my front to the bottom of my tunic. Her slim fingers slipped under to ghost against my flesh, raising my shirt ever so slightly as her eyes continued boring into mine.

Her hands made it up to my chest and I rolled us over that she could remove my tunic. Her eyes twinkled with delight and awe. She must know of the effect she had over me. She would be my undoing if I was to keep her around until I got a sufficient amount of information to pass her lips.

Her body straddled mine like a man would straddle a horse, her hips digging into mine, making my prick slide against her inner thighs and cunt.

"What is your name, sir?" she asked breathlessly as her hands crawled over my exposed flesh like delicate spiders.

"Edward," I murmured.

"Aye, Edward," she moaned, her hand falling back, exposing the column of her ivory-coloured neck to me. "_Taitinn, Eideard._"

Gaelic has never been more appealing. The sound of her voice contorting the strong, gruff accents was beyond arousing. Gaelic was now my favourite language, especially coming from _her_ mouth.

"Keep speaking your native tongue," I groaned. "Speak words of Gaelic to me, lovely Isabella."

She moaned as her hips rocked back and forth, our pelvises rubbing against each other.

"_Mi 'm thoir, Eideard, uile thoir,_" she groaned, her voice husky and breathless.

"More," I demanded in a moan of desire.

"_Lìon mi a-noìs, Ridire,_" she continued, her face contorting beautifully. "_Cruthaich mi cuir air cul cò sinn is 'm carson sinn is seo._"

I quickly flipped us back over. My right hand snaked up her thigh, raising her skirt with it. Her petticoat and underclothes has been discarded. She was completely naked for me now.

I thrust my hardened member into her hot, wet core, making her moan with surprise and pleasure.

Her opening quickly adjusted to my size. The tightness of her cunt surprised me. She was a seductress without using her body, it seemed.

My thrusts were quick and hard. Neither of us wanted to be worshipped, we just wanted to be satisfied. Our tempers wouldn't allow for a gentle connection to occur. It would be rough, just like any other encounter between us would be.

Her bare legs wrapped around my back, forcing my prick to push even deeper into her body.

"_Mo Eideard,_" she whispered.

"Mine," I growled possessively. "All mine."

She nodded feverishly. "_Thoir. Gu léir thoir._"

I grunted as my hips drove into hers. Her mouth fell open into a giant "O" as her insides tightened around mine, her juices oozing all over my bare prick.

"_Mo Dia_!" she screamed. "_Eideard_!"

Hearing my name amongst the Gaelic words that could give me shivers sent me over the peak into a pleasure-filled oblivion. My prick released and squirted inside her flaming body.

My body crashed upon hers, both of us struggling to breath. Her fingers timidly brushed through my hair. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine how different, and wonderful, my life would be if Isabelle could be mine. But, alas, such a thing wouldn't be heard of in these times.

"I know all about _ye_, Captain Cullen," Isabella whispered tenderly.

I raised my head from her steady heartbeat.

"Whatever do ye mean, Isabella?" I asked, confused.

"You asked me what I knew of the English military and I'm telling you," she explained delightfully. "I know everything about you, Edward. You torture my people in search of the truth. You rape my sisters and beat my brothers. My people shall not stand by and watch such blasphemy and treason occurs."

I quickly stood up, pulling my pants back up. Isabella rose, her inviting chest still exposed. She was smiling a devious, all-knowing smile that sent my heart directly into fear and panic.

She calmly tied her plaid shawl around her nakedness and walked towards me, her evil demeanour still oozing from her being.

She wrapped a hand around my neck, pulling me down to her height. She put her lips near my ear.

"_Caoimhnei, Eideard,_" she murmured. "We shall see what words will spill from your mouth once you enter my homeland torture chamber. Be prepared, _mo Sasannach ciomach._"

A rebellious roar erupted as Scottish soldiers broke into my dungeon.

I had been outsmarted by a Scottish temptress. I smiled at her, silently applauding her for planning this.

A few red-bearded Scots roughly grabbed me, pulling my shaking arms behind my back. I couldn't help but to continue smiling at my temptress. She smiled right back at me. She was still seducing me even though I had been caught. I would never be able to shake her from my mind.

"_Sinn seilbhich glacte fhein, caraids_!" the man holding me cried. "_Buadhachas riar __bi__sinn fhìnfhèin_ _a dh'aithghearr_!"

I didn't understand a word they were saying, but I knew they were celebrating. I was a feared Englishman among the Scottish. Horror stories about me have spread across the lands. I have struck fear into the hearts of the Scottish.

Isabella appeared in front of me again. "_Esan 's __cladhaich__._"

The men froze, surprised at whatever she had told them.

"_Ach carson, __Iseabail_?" one of the other soldiers requested. He was burly with brown curly hair, just like Isabella's. They looked so much alike that they could be kin.

"_E feum __dìol__ air ciod e rinn do mi,_" she answered calmly, yet with an air of command. She must be in some sort of position of power to be able to command the soldiers so confidently. "_Mi __deònaich__ gabh mu __fhèin__._"

The men started laughing in an evil way that made me look at Isabella. She smiled and winked at me as her men continued to laugh.

The prisoner has become the torturer.

Long live Isabella. I am her prisoner. Gladly and freely, my lady. Take me now.

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**Here are the translations: **

"_**Mi rinn barrachd na a.**_**" – "I did more than that."  
"**_**A chaoidh.**_**" – "Never."  
"**_**'Nad dream gabhar fulang ceannsaich 'm maith bas-bhuadladh a' mein. Loisg an ifrinn, dibh Sasannach mac a' galla.**_**" – "Your family will suffer under the skilled hands of mine. Burn in hell, you English son of a bitch."  
"**_**Fáilte Máiri, lán a' grás, 'M Triath 's le thusa, naomha an tu measg boireannach 'm naomha 's 'm meas a' do broinn Iosa. Naomh Máiri, máthair a' Dia, guidh bhuainn peacach tráth-sa 'm 'g 'm unair a'bás. Amen.**_**" – This is the Hail Mary prayer. I could probably put it all down, but I don't wanna.  
"**_**Taitinn, Eideard.**_**" – "Please, Edward."  
"**_**Mi 'm thoir, Eideard, uile thoir.**_**" – "I am yours, Edward, all yours."  
"**_**Lìon mi a-noìs, Ridire. Cruthaich mi cuir air cul cò sinn is 'm carson sinn is seo.**_**" – "Fill me up, sir. Make me forget who we are and why we are here."  
"**_**Mo Eideard.**_**" – "My Edward."  
"**_**Thoir. Gu léir thoir.**_**" – "Yours. All yours."  
**_**"Mo Dia! Eideard!"**_** – "My God! Edward!"  
"**_**Caoimhneil Eideard... mo Sasannach ciomach.**_**" – "Dear Edward... my English prisoner."  
"**_**Sinn seilbhich glacte fhein, caraids**_**! **_**Buadhachas riar **__**bi**__**sinn fhìnfhèin**__**a dh'aithghearr**_**!" – "We have caught him, friends! Victory will be ours soon!"  
"**_**E 's **__**mèinn**__**.**_**" – "He is mine."**  
**"**_**Ach carson, **__**Iseabail**_**?" – "But why, Isabella?"  
"**_**E feum **__**dìol**__** air ciod e rinn do mi.**__**Mi **__**deònaich**__** gabh aire a' **__**fhèin**__**.**_**" – "He must pay for what he did to me. I will take care of him."**

**And, yes, I do know that I suck at Gaelic translations and shit. I did this over the Internet. So it's probably not all correct, but oh well. You get the point.**

**Thanks to RosetteCullen for making me do this contest. She's pretty freakin' sweet. You should probably go worship at her feet. (Ha! I'm a poet and I didn't even know it!)**

**I'm half Scottish, and I'm actually descended from Braveheart (William Wallace) himself, so I thought it'd be super cool to stick with the family for this. My dad constantly reminds me that I'm a Wallace (even though that's definitely not my last name) and that I should be proud to be a part of Scottish history (even though I'm not). So yeah. A little somin'-somin' you probably didn't know about moi. **

**I hope you enjoyed it! I had fun writing it 'cause I'm a dirty slut in my head. But not in real life.**

**Reviews are cool. (:**


	2. Chapter 2

Hey everyone! I'm back from Africa, and ready to participate in this contest, so don't forget to vote for me in the poll!

Love times a million,

LadyInBlue6


	3. Chapter 3

**Finally, eh? I know, I know. I fail. Anyway, after nearly a year, I'm producing another chapter in my Age of Edward contest entry. I hope it's as good as the first was!**

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**The English Prisoner**

Isabella

It took us days to get back to Scotland. We stopped in at an inn so I could wash myself. Emmett had brought me a new gown and shawl to wear when we entered our homeland once again. This was the time to look proud, not like a dirty whore. I had accomplished the impossible. I had captured Edward Cullen, the horrifying English bastard that had been torturing my people since the beginning of this damnable war.

Yes, I was proud of my accomplishments. A woman, a lowly girl like me, had finished a job that had originally been intended for a man. Fools. Only a woman can make a man waver. Only a woman can make a man's mind foggy with desire and lust, two weapons that women have always contained, but have never used.

"Isabella," Emmett said as he entered my room for the night. "The prisoner is being contained in the dungeon in the basement." He chuckled. "Who would have thought that an inn would have a dungeon?"

"Most inns must have a dungeon," I murmured thoughtfully. "Since us Scottish rats are running rampant throughout England."

Emmett chuckled again. "Goodnight, sister. Do not worry about the prisoner. Jasper is watching him for the night."

"Goodnight, brother."

The celebration was immense when we arrived back to Scotland. Everyone in Edinburgh came to worship me and yell at my prisoner. I was like a queen.

My father congratulated me on my success before he left to meet William near the English border. He said he would be sure to remind William to send me a letter of thanks. My cousin was a humble man, and I'm sure he was thanking God for my trickery.

The celebration lasted days. Because I was only sixteen, I was not able to participate in much of the celebrating. Instead, I spent boring nights with my sister, Alice, whom was set to be wed to Jasper, a man who had been serving me. Alice stuck out like a lily in a garden of thistles. She was made to be English, or at least she acted so. She wanted new gowns, she wanted tea parties, she wanted this, and she wanted that. All in a time like this! She disgusted me. As far as I was concerned, she was not my sister. She was a ninny that Mother had adopted before I had been born.

Finally, after everyone left our home, I was able to talk to my prisoner. Although I had lost myself in a fit of lust in England, I would do no such thing now. I had gained control of my sins. Edward Cullen would hold no power over me anymore. I was in power now. He would bend to my ever word and will.

Emmett and Jasper escorted me to the dungeon in our basement. I was wearing a new, clean dress. My hair was no longer a mess, my skin was clean. I was a lady once again. And I was going to make sure that Edward Cullen knew that after I was through with him.

"_You may leave now,_" I told my brothers in Gaelic. That was something I delighted in. Edward Cullen could not understand my language. He called it the Devil's language, senseless chatter. He only called it so because he could not understand it.

I draped my shawl over the handle of the door and walked into the dimly lit room. My prisoner was chained to the wall, his broad shoulders nearly coming out of their sockets. He looked as dirty as I had been when I was brought to him.

"Ah, my Edward," I crooned as I approached him. "How are you, prisoner?"

Edward smiled at me through the obvious pain the shackles were inflicting upon him. "Who have they sent to care for me now? Is Isabella trying to make peace with me by sending me a wench?"

I smirked as I continued sauntering towards Edward. "Do ye not remember yer own prisoner, Edward?"

"Isabella?" Edward asked, squinting. "My eyes deceive me."

"No," I assured him. "First impressions are not to be used. Did yer mother not teach you to not judge a lady by her looks, but by the words that flow from her mouth?"

Edward smirked. "'Tis not a woman's place to have words flowing from her mouth."

My temper flared. "And this is not yer place to be speaking without being spoken to." I presented the room to Edward with my arms. "Welcome to my dungeon, Sir Cullen. I do hope you have enjoyed yer stay thus far."

"It is so much friendlier than my torture chamber," Edward replied sarcastically. "What shall the lady wish to do to me?" His green eyes twinkled with sinful delight. I wanted to hit him for bringing up what he had done to me. Never again would my lust overpower me. I was meant to be a pure woman. I wanted to be a maiden. Edward had ruined my chances of that.

I walked up to him and slapped him so hard the echo rang through the walls. Edward's eyes widened in shock. Redness was already spreading across his cheek.

"Now that I've done what I wanted to do, I shall continue to do what I _should _do," I murmured. "I have been entrusted to squeeze the information from your brain, Sir, and that's exactly what I shall do. Shall we do this the easy way or the hard way?"

"What does the hard way entail?" The pig still thought I would fall back into my sins.

"The hard way," I told him, "entails me finding a scythe from a farmer and castrating you like the pig that you are."

Fear was struck into Edward's eyes, but he tried to hide it. "Surely the lady would not resort to such a deed especially when my prick had filled her days ago."

I tangled my fingers in Edward Cullen's dusty brown hair and made his face look up to mine while I snarled, "That alone should be enough for me to remove yer prick, ye English bastard."

"Ye seemed to enjoy it whilst 'twas happening," Edward countered through grinding teeth. "Ye are a Scottish whore, anyway."

I threw his head against the stone wall, making him close his eyes in pain. "I am _not_ a whore, bastard. I am a lady. Yer stupid slaves stripped me of my maidenhood. I am but sixteen-years of age. If ye would have done this in the time before the war, ye would have been stoned to death."

"Sixteen?" Edward hissed. "Only sixteen?"

"I am but a child," I continued as I paced in front of my prisoner. "If I was to tell anyone of what happened to me, ye would surely face a painful and torturous death." I smiled to myself. "Thankfully I am too proud to announce such an embarrassing fact. Therefore, I get to torture ye myself."

"Believe me when I say I wouldn't touch thee with a stick if I had not been in charge of retrieving information," Edward spat at me. He looked me over like I was the vilest creature to walk the earth. "Yer nothing but a Scottish bitch."

I hit him with a closed fist this time, causing his lip to catch on his yellow teeth, making the blood flow down his chin and onto his dirty tunic. Then I grabbed his hair and forced him to look at me.

"Tell me what yer master is planning to do to my people," I breathed menacingly.

"Never," Edward seethed. "Ye think you know how to torture people. Ye know nothing. Yer but sixteen. Naїve and stupid, even more so than the average Scotswoman."

"Just because I have no prick to resort to does not mean I do not know how to torture ye," I replied as I walked over to the table and picked up a horse whip. "Ye resort to yer sex. Of course women would rather tell you the truth than have to have your disease infested prick in their mouth."

Edward laughed humourlessly. "Yes, my disease ridden prick. 'Tis disease ridden because of yer dirty women, wench."

I smirked as I walked back to my prisoner. "Ye can say what ye want. 'Tis clear who is charge here." I ran the whip along my hand. "Such a shame yer chained to the wall. I would ask ye to remove yer own shirt like a real man would, but since ye are not a real man, ye do not deserve such honour."

The knife I had hidden under my dress was pulled and I cut the shirt off him, making sure to catch some skin as I moved the knife from his chest to the bottom of his torso. I pulled the shirt from him and undid the shackles on his hands.

"Get on yer knees," I commanded stoically, "and face the wall."

Edward, surprisingly, did as I told him. Clearly he did not want to do this the hard way. I whipped him as hard as my body would let me. The lashes on his back began bleeding after I stroked him the fifth time. I went five more times simply for my own pleasure. I walked back to the table and threw a pitcher of cold water over his back. I wanted him to be able to settle in. It was going to be a hard night for him.

"Do ye have anything to tell me?" I asked sweetly as Edward laid his forehead against the wall.

"No," he ground out before standing and looking at me with a fire that rivalled Hell itself. "I have nothing to show you, wench, except that England shall overcome Scotland once and for all. Ye shall see. And then ye shall suffer under me once again. Next time I won't be so easy on ye."

"Ye are willing to fuck a sixteen-year-old wench again? How old are ye, Edward?"

"Twice yer age," he said in disgust. Why should he be disgusted? Before the war broke out, I was due to be wed to someone thrice my age now, and I had only been twelve at the time.

"Am I not young enough for ye?" I whispered in his ear. "Would ye rather have someone younger, more willing to bend to yer will?"

"I would rather have anyone but you," Edward told me with clenched teeth. Then he grabbed my waist. I had forgotten that I had unshackled his hands. He held me tightly to his body and whispered, "Ye have a lot to learn, young Isabella. And I have a lot to teach ye."

My eyes widened as I felt his prick against my stomach. The filthy bastard. I tried to calm myself. I squirmed in his grasp, but he was still stronger than me, even after days of famishing in dungeons.

His breath was hot against my neck and the heat erupted like a war cry and invaded the rest of my body, settling between my legs. He swung me around and threw my body against the wall, his lips moving against my neck, his tongue lapping against my skin. My legs twisted within the many layers of my dress. My hands tangled themselves within his hair once again, but this time, I brought his face to mine to meet his lips with such a hard, raw passion that it took my breath away.

My mind was overpowered by my lust, and I could not seem to find the reasons I once had to keep myself from letting my body be overtaken by this fiend. This outrageous, undeserving fiend.

"_Mo Dia,_" I moaned in a shaky breath. "_Eideard._"

"You are mine," Edward reminded me, his eyes holding mine with an intense fire that made my knees buckle. "You must never forget that." He unhitched my dress as quickly as his clumsy fingers could. Soon, I was in nothing but my undergarments. He pulled my undershirt off, revealing my bare torso to him. He grabbed both of my breasts with his hands. "_These_ are mine." His hands continued down my body and into my underpants, his fingers sliding along my sex. "_This_ is mine."

I nodded and moaned, "_Tha_."

Edward tugged the last shred of clothing I had on off my body along with his pants and thrust into me so hard that it made my mouth bob open and my eyes roll into the back of my head. He had to hold me up against the wall so I was high enough for him to fuck me.

"Who do you belong to?" Edward asked possessively.

"_Sibh,_" I sighed as my back arched against the stone wall.

Edward's tongue ran from the hole in my stomach to the valley between my breasts slowly. My hands shot to his shoulders to help hold myself up. I looked down into the green eyes that could so easily possess me.

"And who do you belong to, _Eideard?_" I asked in a husky voice.

Edward's eyes danced as he replied with, "You, Isabella." And then he thrust into me again, making me forget how to formulate words.

My sex tightened around Edward and I felt the tenseness tugging at my stomach. I was going to fall off the edge quickly. Edward kept thrusting and grunting and panting my name.

"_Mo Dia,_" I screeched as Edward thrust into me once more before I fell into the pleasurable oblivion. Edward followed me soon after, resting his head against my stomach as he cursed over and over as he poured himself into me.

Edward kept me against the fall as he came down from the pleasure I had provided to him. Then he released me and I slid down the wall, my back cutting itself against the uneven stones.

My legs shook beneath me as I pulled myself back together. I had finished dressing before Edward did, so I quickly chained his hands back up and finished pulling his pants up for him. He looked at me with a lazy grin.

"Ye will be back," he said confidently, "and ye will not be here for information from my mouth. Ye will be here for the same reason that ye came to me today."

"Ye are mistaken, Sir Cullen," I replied nonchalantly. "I shall not make the mistake of letting you loose again. Ye were right. I do have a lot to learn."

"I shall be yer tutor, then," Edward murmured in a completely evilly delightful voice.

"And I shall be yer torturer," I snapped as I smoothed my dress. "Do not think that this is an occurrence that will happen again, Sir. Ye shall never overpower me like that again. Do ye understand?"

"Oh, I understand what yer trying to do," Edward answered. "But I know it shall not work, sweet Isabella. We both know you cannot resist. Neither of us can. So what is the point in even trying?" He smirked a snake's grin. He truly was Lucifer in disguise. An archangel in the disguise of an English man. This was God's test for me. And I had failed.

"As ye said before, ye are English, I am Scottish," I concluded as I walked to the door and put my shawl on. "I would not touch ye with a stick if we were in any other situation."

Edward cackled as I slammed the dungeon door behind me and locked it.

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**It's not as long as the first one, but I did write this in like two hours. Pretty dece. Almost 1,500 words per hour. **

**Good news: This isn't the end.  
Bad news: I'm not sure on updates. **

**I'm in the middle of doing The Twilight Twenty-Five, and I have another WIP on the run, Carpe Diem. But, seeing as this is seriously addicting for me, I may be able to pump out chapters regularly.**

**Freak, I had to cross my legs while I wrote this chapter. I was panting. It was disgusting.**

**Hah, here's hoping you all had the same reaction so I don't feel like such a skanky whore**

**Mary**

***Some translations:  
_Mo Dia - _My God  
****_Eideard - _Edward  
****_Tha - _Yes  
****_Sibh - _You**


	4. Chapter 4

**Four to five months have passed. Just so you're not confused later in the chapter.**

**

* * *

  
**

Edward

The next weeks, months even, continued with the same routine. Isabella would come down the dungeon and attempt to get information out of me. I refused. The only thing that changed was the fact that she brought her brother along to make sure I did not try anything on her. Smart girl. It only made me desire for her more, though.

Even though the fire had diminished in Isabella, mine only grew. She looked like a woman of power every time she entered the room. Her voice rang with authority as she tortured me. Pain was something I could handle quite easily. Being without Isabella, however, was something else entirely. If she wanted to get information from me, all she would have to do would be to tell me that she would never be mine. That I would never touch her again. My will would crumble beneath the weight of those words. I would surely die rather than find out that Isabella would never be mine.

My heart kept me afloat. I had no doubt that my English kin would come and save me. After that, I would take Isabella as my own. I would chain her to a bed and force her to come for me over and over again until she could not even keep her eyes open due to exhaustion. I would force her to be my prostitute forever, and I would never pay her in anything besides pleasure. Surely then she would learn to respect me. Then, she may learn to care for an Englishman like me.

Isabella had taken over my life like a storm overtakes a ship at sea. It is frightful and ye do not want it to happen to ye, but it will consume ye whether ye like it or not. All I thought about was her; her body, her voice, her age… Jesus Christ, my singer was only sixteen. I was thirty-two. According to normalcy, I could marry Isabella without anyone questioning me. There were not any age problems between us. But, I had always imagined myself settling down with someone closer to my age. I wanted someone I could talk to about things other than what I was going to eat for supper and when my wife would pop out her next child.

She was proving to be so much more than a young girl, though. Isabella was a woman. She had matured before her time. She knew what was going on during the war. I had even heard Emmett bragging about her accomplishments in the field, primarily capturing me for the Scottish. She had even received a personal letter from Wallace himself congratulating her on her acts of bravery.

When Isabella entered the dungeon today, Emmett closed the door behind her, leaving us alone for the first time since I had first arrived in Scotland.

Isabella looked like she had been crying. Her eyes were stained red and her lips were trembling. She held her cloak tightly around her body, like it would protect her from harm.

"Ye English bastard," she choked out, her voice shaking.

I had never seen her in this state before. She was always collected, and when she was not collected, she was angry. I had never seen Isabella cry before. I had never seen her sad. This was interesting. Something horrible must have happened in the war. Maybe her father had been killed on the field.

She walked up to me and slapped me so hard my brain surely bounced off my skull.

"_Sibh __faigh muin__ Sasannach gárlach,_" she snarled.

"What are ye saying, Isabella?" I asked. I had no idea what she was talking about.

Her hands flew to her stomach. "I am pregnant."

My heart flew into my throat and I fought for air. I had… I had impregnated her? How… Why had this happened to me? Anyone but her, it could have happened to anyone but her…

Isabella began sobbing as she sank to her knees in front of me, covering her face with her hands.

"What am I supposed to tell them? I fucked the Englishmen so I could bring _ye_ home?" She shook her head. "No. They will be so disappointed in me. I shall… I shall just have to pretend like it is not happening. I will have to marry someone quickly…"

"No!" I cried. "No."

"What does it matter to ye?" she asked weakly. "I am just a Scottish wench, remember?"

"Do not marry, Isabella," I begged. "Please. You cannot do this to me."

"What? Do ye love me?" Her lips curled with displeasure. "No. Ye do not. Ye just like my body because I am young. Yer disgusting."

No, I did not love her. How could I?

I attempted to move my hands to comfort the poor girl, but my wrists were shackled to the wall. I had not moved since the last time I had fucked Isabella. It seemed so long ago…

"When did ye find out?" I asked her.

"Today," she whispered. "Although, I should have known. I had been sick soon after we… I went to the doctor today. I made him swear not to tell a soul. No one shall know. I shall marry someone this week."

"Marry me," I said.

Isabella's head whipped up, her eyes piercing me like daggers. "_A chaoidh._"

I recognized the common phrase I had experience with. "Why not, Isabella? I am the culprit."

"Ye are English. I captured ye. Ye are my _prisoner,_" she cried. "I cannot! I will not!"

"Do not deny me, Isabella," I growled. I should have been pleading and gentle, but I could not stand it when she defied me. She knew who she belonged to, even if she did have me in chains.

"_Never,_" she seethed. "I would never marry ye, not after ye treated me like a wench."

"Isabella, I have changed since ye captured me," I told her quietly, trying to keep my temper under control. "I may not be able to give ye information, but ye, of all people, ought to know that. I am obligated to my country, to the crown."

"If ye have no information to provide me with, then ye can give me nothing at all," Isabella said, her eyes lighting with rage. "It has been months, Cullen, since we were last together. Five months. Does that not show ye that I have no interest in ye at all?"

"No, that does not show me anything," I replied fiercely. "All it shows me is that you are scared of me, for I am English and ye know that I can control ye within seconds of me being unchained."

Isabella glared at me as she stood slowly, her eyes burning holes in my impure soul. My arousal was painfully tight against the confines of my trousers. She undid the shackles around my wrists.

"There. Yer unchained. Now show me what ye can do," she challenged as she walked backwards a few steps, urging me to follow her.

I walked two steps across the room and cupped her cheeks with my hands before kissing her trembling lips with a fierceness that I could not compare to anything. It had been too long, far too long, since I had held this woman in my arms. It had been too long since she felt desired.

My fingers released her from her dress and her hands took off my dirty clothes for me. Would there ever be a slow mode for us? I could not imagine being able to find the control to go slowly with Isabella. Her body was too much for my mind to comprehend.

Soon I had her lying on the table, completely shed of all her clothing. I took the time to look over her body carefully. She had such pale skin and graceful limbs. There was indeed a small incline that had not previously been there on her stomach. My lips scattered kisses across her flesh, littering the being within with love.

"Do ye not understand that we were made for each other, Isabella?" I asked her as I climbed on top of her writhing body. "I may not love ye now, but if ye gave me the chance, I could."

Isabella cried, her face contorting with pain. "Do not say that, Edward," – it was the first time she had said my name since I had first met her – "I cannot bear it."

"Ye know who ye belong to," I reminded her as I hovered at her opening, teasing her. "Ye belong to me. Ye always shall, no matter which Scotsman you marry."

The tears slid silently down her cheeks. "Yes, I belong to ye." She looked at me warily. "Why does this happen to me? What did I ever do to deserve such torture?"

"How is it torture?" I whispered against her breasts. "You do not love what I can do to yer body?"

"I love it too much," she gasped as I thrust into her. "I love ye too much."

She loved me. I closed my eyes as I continued to move within her, my prick brushing at her insides. She mewled as her hands moved across my famished body, her fingers plucking at my ribs like strings on a mandolin.

"How could ye love someone like me?" I asked her quietly through pants.

"I do not know," she admitted before she groaned loudly. "It does not make sense to me."

"Love is not made to make sense." Then I tangled our mouths and tongues, making her forget about the problems outside of this room. I wanted everything outside of this room to disappear. That would be my ideal world.

Inside this room, I did not care who was English and who was Scottish. In this room, I only cared that I had a beautiful woman to lay with, a woman that loved me even though I had been an evil being in her life since I had met her. Inside this room, I had the potential to love this woman back. In this room, I _did_ love this woman in return.

I thrust into her, making myself forgetting about all of the things that had been harrowing my mind relentlessly since I had last been inside of Isabella. All I wanted was her, all I needed was her. It was as simple as that, which was so very complicated.

Something about this time was different. I cared about her wellbeing, where as before, if I hurt her, it only made me ache for her more. This time I took extra care while moving myself in and out of her. She was so fragile in this state, but I still wanted her.

This routine continued for the next week or so. Isabella fed me more often, which gave me more strength. I did not feel so weak anymore. I felt like myself. Every day, Isabella would unleash me from my chains and let me eat a small meal with her. Then she would run her fingers through my hair and tell me that she did not know what to do with me, and then she would kiss me and we...we would make love to each other. It was not mindless anymore. It was filled with passion and desire. I could barely contain my heart anymore. Every day led to my demise into love.

One day, when Isabella came to me, she looked frantic. Her eyes darted around the room, not once landing on me for more than a split second.

"We must go," she murmured under her breath as she unlocked me from the wall. "Hurry."

I grasped her hand and let her lead me out of my dungeon. I breathed in the fresh air with a sigh. I felt the urge to kiss the fresh soil beneath my feet.

"Come," Isabella urged, leading me towards a house. It must have been hers.

She quickly began throwing things at me and commanding me to put them in the carriage outside the door. Clothes, books, food... Everything that she could take in the carriage, she brought. She looked around the surprisingly quiet town one more time before getting into the carriage and snapping the whips, forcing the horses to move forward.

"What is going on, love?" I hissed.

"The English are coming."

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**I'm guessing there's going to be maybe one more chapter and an epilogue. Maybe just the epilogue. Sorry to disappoint. I never even meant for this to go on for so long. I was just going to do a second chapter and end there. But I felt like continuing this for a while.**

**Hope you enjoyed!  
Mary**


	5. Chapter 5

Bella

Everyone was deserting our town. One of the runners from the front at the English border came flying onto the streets just as I was about to go visit Edward again.

"Ye all must go," he panted, as if he had been running himself. His eyes were frantic, his horse foaming at the mouth because it had been worked so hard. "The English... They are coming. Wallace had a hole in his wall, and they found it. Go, get out of here!"

Panic arose and the people fled as quickly as possible. My mother and sister got in Jasper's carriage. Emmett took his wife and child into a different carriage.

"Isabella!" Emmett yelled. "Get in yer carriage _now!_"

I knew that this was not the time to panic. I quickly grabbed as many of my possessions as I could before running back to the dungeon to get Edward. I could not just leave him. I needed him with me. Not only for my own personal sake, but for my life. He was English. He could talk to the soldiers.

Edward hopped in the carriage quickly with me, letting me direct the horses. I was going towards the English instead of away. With Edward, I could afford to do so. With Edward, I would be moving to England to hopefully get some insight. Hopefully I could help my kin win this war if they had a voice on the inside.

"Where are we going, love?" Edward asked.

"England," I replied quietly. "Go put some better clothes on. I grabbed some of Jasper's tunics and trousers for ye. Ye must be able to talk to the soldiers if we meet any. We must make it to England without dying."

"Of course," Edward murmured, crawling into the back quickly and changing.

I let him take over the reins after.

"If they ask, ye broke free," I told him as we continued towards England. "Ye broke free, and ye took me as yer prisoner. They will believe this."

Edward smiled at me. "I believe 'tis the other way around, Isabella."

My cheeks became hot at his words. Life had been so different in the past week since I found out I was pregnant. Before, I had been hard and angry. I had lived by my hatred for the English. When I found out that I was carrying an English babe, that wall crumbled. Edward had gotten under my skin in the worst way. I was in love for all the wrong reasons. He was English, I was Scottish; he was horrible, he did things to my people that made me sick, and he wanted nothing more than to be my downfall. But, then, he would whisper words that made my heart thump harder in my chest. He would tell me I was his, and that he was mine. He was so possessive, and the woman in me rejoiced in that. Someone wanted me. Someone needed me. Someone wanted me as theirs.

My life was turned upside down. I was in love with an English man. I was going to England whilst fleeing the English. My head ached with all the emotional and physical exhaustion I was going through.

Just as we were about to cross the English border, we were stopped by a small fleet of soldiers.

"Who are ye?" one of them asked with a sneer.

"Edward Cullen," Edward answered, his chin in the air.

"Edward?" the soldier questioned, his face turning up into a smile. "Christ, its Edward Cullen, lads! We have not heard from ye in months, Sir Cullen! Where have ye been?"

"I was captured by some Scotsmen at the chamber," he told them. "I have been a prisoner since then, but I was set free when they found out the English were coming. I took this wench with me as a prize." He pointed at me with his thumb.

The soldiers chortled. I pursed my lips, anger buzzing throughout my body. I knew Edward was just saying that. I knew he didn't mean it. But it still made me angry to hear him say it.

"Well, it is good to see ye, Edward," the soldier announced, shaking Edward's hand firmly. "I guess we shall see ye on the other side."

Edward nodded and murmured his thanks before heading towards his homeland. I had no idea as to where we would end up. London, perhaps. That was the major military base. Maybe Edward would be able to take a leave of absence for a couple of weeks before being forced to work once again.

My main hope was that Edward would remain in the dark about my second purpose in staying close to him. I hoped he would never discover that I was using him to help my kin. He would never forgive me then. I needed his trust. I would do whatever it took. I would grit my teeth and discard my dignity for my kin.

There was no line that I would not cross in order for Scotland to be victorious.

_Seven months later_

Edward

Isabella gave birth to a tiny boy. He has my reddish hair and her big, beautiful brown eyes. He is a tiny little thing, as Isabella went into labour early after attempting to ride a horse although she was already eight months pregnant.

Such a silly woman, my Bella is.

Not many knew of her existence. There were rumours, of course, but I did nothing to confirm nor deny them. I did not want her to be sucked into the world of prejudice that England was currently sitting in. She would never be able to look at me the same if I let her go into public without me. It was a jungle out there. A jungle that fed on Scottish blood.

Isabella seemed happy. Sometimes I caught her staring out the window in the general direction of Scotland, but most of the time, she was with me, always talking and asking questions. I could understand why her cousin had used her to get to me now. She was incredibly smart for her age and understood the art of war and deceit.

I quickly fell in love with my Bella. She was everything a man of my standard desired. She was smart, witty, beautiful, and she knew her place. She knew when I wanted to be left alone and when I wanted her to continue inquiring about what I was doing.

We made love at least once a day, even when her belly was swollen. I could not help the way I felt. She was simply irresistible, even when pregnant. She did not seem to mind.

After Alistair was born, Isabella took it upon herself to take care of the babe alone. She was upset when I suggested getting a maid to take care of him. She wanted to feed him. She wanted to hold him. She wanted to care for him all the time, even when he woke in the dead of the night.

"I am raising him as if I were still in Scotland," she told me indignantly.

Isabella was a Scot through and through. She kept her husky accent even after being surrounded by Englishmen for almost a year. She refused to accept her new living arrangements. It made me love her all the more.

Alistair continued to grow and soon he was sleeping all through the night. Isabella was content with letting a maid take care of him now that he was six months old.

This made me extremely happy. I had my Bella back.

"Finally we are alone," I murmured after Alistair was put to bed.

Isabella grinned at me. "Oh, Sir Cullen, do not at as if I have not been taking care of ye as much as I have cared for Alistair."

I chuckled as she climbed into our bed. 'Twas true. Isabella had taken very, very good care of my needs even when Alistair was just a newborn.

"My Bella, I am only happy that yer happy," I told her as I undid her garments as quickly as I could, sucking on her earlobe.

Soon, we were both naked. Isabella climbed on top of me, sinking onto my hardened prick easily. She was still as tight as the first time we had come together in this way. She was still in control of me. She still had me in awe.

The only thing that had changed was that we could not bear to hurt each other anymore. Isabella was delicate and I loved her more than my own life. I could not hit her nor could she hit me.

However, our pairing was still passionate. She could still make me lose control and I could still force her to speak in her native tongue and moan until she finally came.

Nothing and everything had changed between us.

When Alistair was a year old, Isabella threw a small party for him. The boy was growing quickly. He enjoyed spending time outside with us, riding the horses and playing in the meadow behind the house. He was slowly learning to speak, both in English and Gaelic. He would be a smart lad, my Alistair.

Traditionally, most men did not have much to do with their children until they were old enough to work. I wanted to be a part of Alistair's life, though. He was just another addition to my love for Isabella. Without them, I would be nothing.

The final battle was coming. Isabella begged me not to go.

"For what reason?" I asked her. "For me to not kill yer kin or for me to not be in danger?"

She looked pained. "Edward, ye know I love ye, but I cannot simply forget my kin. Ye know that."

The fact that she still cared about her kin as much as me made me jealous.

"I must, Isabella," I told her grimly. "Ye know that."

Tears formed in her eyes. 'Twas the first time I had seen her cry since she saw our son for the first time.

"_Eideard,_" she mumbled, grasping my shirt tightly in her hands. "_Riaraich, mo gaol._"

I closed my eyes, trying not to soften at her softly spoken Gaelic words.

"_Mo gaolaich sibh,_" she said fiercely. "I love you, _Eideard._ Is that not reason enough to stay with Alistair and me?"

My forehead met hers. She knew exactly what I needed to hear in order to stay here with her and Alistair.

"Isabella," I whispered, "I love you."

She shook her head against mine, letting a sob escape her lips. I did not want to see her hurting over me. I could not handle seeing her cry.

I kissed her gently on the lips. She responded enthusiastically, throwing her arms around my neck and pulling me down to her height. Her tongue forced its way through my pursed lips, begging me to join her.

But, I could not.

When I pulled away, she said, "What if I never see you again? What shall I do? Continue living in England as your mistress?" Now she was angry with me. "You said I was not your wench and yet you never married me. I am the mother of your son and yet I am not worthy enough to share your name." She turned from me, her head hung. "Edward, I love you and I want you to stay with me. Marry me. Produce more children with me. Please."

Once again, she knew all the things that could make me consider staying home.

"Isabella, I will marry you when I come home" – she sobbed again – "and we will continue making our family grow. You will soon be Isabella Cullen and we shall produce the strongest and most beautiful children England has seen."

"Please," she begged once more, turning to look at me with tear-filled eyes. "Please stay with me."

I sighed. "I cannot, Isabella. I cannot."

"Fine! Leave!" she screamed. "I hope you die, Edward!"

I had finally broken my Scottish temptress.

The battle did not go as planned. I realized quickly why Isabella did not want me to go. She had been relaying information back to her kin somehow. They knew our plans, they knew everything.

I should have been angry. I should have told someone what had happened. Instead, I was impressed, and there was no way in hell I would ever tell anyone of Isabella's deceit. I could not sacrifice her.

Many men were lost, much blood was shed. Luckily, Isabella had sent word about my involvement in the battle. I was taken prisoner on the first night and Isabella met me as soon as I entered Scotland.

"I told you not to go," she reminded me stoically.

Isabella was still upset with me, but she did not let me die. She kept me. That could only mean that she still loved me and still wanted me. I could live with that.

"I love ye," I whispered in her ear while she drove us to her old home.

"I love ye," she replied, smiling a small smile for me.

"I love ye, Mum and Papa!" Alistair exclaimed from the back of the carriage.

Isabella laughed in relief, tears filling her eyes once more.

Long live Isabella. I am forever your prisoner.

**The End.**

* * *

_I'm finally done The Scottish Temptress after a year._

_Hope you enjoyed it. I know I did._

_The reason why I picked Alistair was because it means "protector of mankind." Isabella wanted her son to be a strong fighter for the Scottish, and protect their land. That's why his name is Alistair._

_Mary._


	6. Fandom Gives Back

Were you not satisfied with the missing pieces in Seducing Revenge? Upset with the ending of Suave Secrets? Wanted to hear a little more from Edward in The Kings of Forks? Interested in a continuation of any of my one-shots? Here's your chance to get exactly what you want!

I'm participating in Fandom Gives Back this summer. I'm offering three one-shots on a first come, first serve basis; one one-shot in a real auction-style, and one multi-chapter story in a real auction-style.

Here's the link to everything you can bid on:  
http:/www(.)thefandomgivesback(.)com/yourauctions(.)php  
Without the brackets, obviously.

I already have a bid on the multi-chapter! So if you're interested in that, hustle your bustle over to the site and start bidding!

Bidding ends on July 4, 2010.

Thanks very much for the support!  
lib6


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